


unwilling to wait for it

by rillrill



Series: Revolutionary Whore [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gags, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Dynamics, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5261402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/pseuds/rillrill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s never my intention to tease you, Burr,” he says, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth even as he works to keep his voice serious. “Perhaps you just find me irresistible. You can’t hold me at fault for your own sinful thoughts.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	unwilling to wait for it

Burr slides into the room with a sort of sly ease, and it takes Alexander a moment to realize that he’s even arrived. Burr has a way of sneaking up on him, a sort of secrecy to his walk and deportment that unnerves Alexander as much as it excites him. But, well, here they are.  
  
This is far from the first time they’ve done this, met with these such expectations hanging over the night like a gathering storm. The first time, as he recalls it, was more accident than not, but accidents often repeat and soon enough, they’re not so accidental — and when Alexander sees Burr cross the threshold of the tavern, he feels a start somewhere deep in his midsection, accompanied by the promise of something forbidden, something unlawful.

 “Alexander,” Burr says and it’s too familiar, it makes him feel slimy and uncomfortable. But at the same time, he should be used to this by now, shouldn’t he? Hasn’t this been the secret highlight of his last few months, these nights he steals away from Eliza (no, he can’t think about Eliza) and the drudgeries of his everyday life and allows himself to be, put simply, used?

“Aaron Burr,” he replies in a tone equally familiar, so much as such as to be a challenge. “Sir.”  
  
“Is your family at home?” Burr asks quietly, so quick off the bat and transparent. And Alexander laughs, because not even Burr, whose intentions are usually opaque as milk, can conceal his anticipation at times. He’s still a man, after all.

 “No,” Alexander says after a pause. “Mrs. Hamilton and the children have left the city for the rest of the summer. We won’t be disturbed.”

“Very well, right,” says Burr, as Alexander drains what’s left of his ale. “But I have to warn you, Alexander. I won’t tolerate your mouth tonight. I’ve had a trying month, and—”  
  
“Enough said,” Alexander says with a sly smile, and he leaves the empty glass on the bar top as they beat a hasty retreat from the tavern, making their way outside and down Wall Street at a soldier’s pace.  
  
New York is hot and humid this summer, so much that Alexander can’t help but be reminded of St. Croix. Burr doesn’t seem to so much as break a sweat as he walks briskly beside him, but Alexander’s hairline and the nape of his neck are damp by the time they arrive at his front door. Alexander takes his time with the lock, making certain to brush against Burr’s thigh and hip as he does. With a cautious look down the street, Burr waits for Alexander to let himself in, and, only then, steps inside.  
  
All pretense sees to melt away the moment the heavy door swings shut behind them with a dull thud. Burr reaches out and snakes a hand through Alexander’s ponytail, wrapping it around his hand and using it to hold him still. “Alexander,” he murmurs as he steps closer. “Do you have any concept of shame? Teasing me in the street like that, is that your idea of a game?”  
  
Alexander’s breath hitches. He tries to nod, but Burr’s grip on his hair only gets tighter, so instead he inhales mightily and uses, as always, his words.  
  
“It’s never my intention to tease you, Burr,” he says, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth even as he works to keep his voice serious. “Perhaps you just find me irresistible. You can’t hold me at fault for your own sinful thoughts.”  
  
Burr snorts as his free hand snakes down to rub against the growing hardness in Alexander’s pants. “Seems awfully brazen for you, of all people, to lecture me on sin.” His voice is cool and aloof. “When I think of all the stories I’ve heard, the men and women you’ve debased yourself for—”  
  
“What have you heard, Burr?” Alexander challenges him, thrusting ever so slightly against the hand rubbing against his crotch. “You, of all people, should know that rumors like those you speak of are often just pretty lies. Or perhaps you’ll allow me the favor of arguing in my own defense, since I know how you love it when I editorialize—”  
  
Burr’s grip on his cock and balls through his breeches grows stronger at this suggestion, tightening until Alexander is squirming uncomfortably under his hands. “No, I don’t think so,” he says casually. “In fact, I don’t want you to argue at all. Talk less, Hamilton. For the love of God, shut up.”  
  
Alexander winces in relief cut with slight disappointment as Burr releases his tight grasp on his manhood. He shifts and pulls him closer, brushing his lips lightly against Burr’s, barely a tease. “And what if I can’t?” he breathes, ghosting fingers over Burr’s upper arms as he hovers millimeters from his mouth “You’re well aware of my disposition. You can’t truly believe I can simply sign over my submission on order. Subdue me, Burr.”  
  
Burr grins wickedly, moving neither forward nor back, simply holding his ground as Alexander grazes his own lips against his. He's impassive, dark eyes gleaming in the low light as Alexander strokes his biceps through his sleeves. "Then I imagine I'd have to put something else in your mouth to shut you up," he murmurs, and Alexander shivers in spite of himself.

He kisses Burr first, can't hold back, and to his credit, Burr kisses back immediately, taking control of the situation, reaching up to catch both of Hamilton's hands around the wrists. Burr leads the dance, he sets the pace, and Alexander is more than eager to keep up, the old, familiar itch returning to his skin, his hair, every square inch of his body. He feels his blood thrum as Burr deepens the kiss, opens his lips. Because now it's beginning, this manic feeling he knows so well that he's been fighting all week and channeling into his work, his words. It carries the words out of him and makes them fly, makes them feel real, but now the words aren't enough. Writing won't quell the drive rising within him now. He needs a fight, a struggle for dominance, because the alternative means sitting quietly by candlelight and thinking, and he's not capable of that anymore, not by a long shot.

 Alexander moans as Burr thrusts his tongue into his mouth, cocks his head back as he feels another sharp tug at his hair, leaving the graceful line of his throat exposed above the fine lace collar of his shirt. He waits for Burr to attack him there, but it doesn't happen. Instead, Burr just looks at him - haughty, again, but oddly unemotional. Like there's nothing Alexander could do for him, nothing he's good for.

 Suddenly, Alexander is filled with the desire to prove him wrong.

 "Go ahead," he says, thrusting his hips forward but meeting only air. "Try me."

 "Better be able to put your money where your mouth is," Burr hisses, and then the hand in Alexander's hair is shoving him to his knees, to which he sinks easily, gladly. Burr undoes his own breeches with a quick, nimble hand and then he's freeing his erection. Alexander licks his lips in anticipation, half subconsciously, and lets his jaw fall open as Burr thrusts inside, the hand in his hair pushing him down on Burr's cock.

 He allows Burr to set the pace for the moment, the result being neither too slow or too quick for his liking. In and out, in and out. Steady thrusts that ground him, make him feel whole. But Alexander gags a little as Burr thrusts deeper, and then with a smirk pulls out, stepping back and surveying Alexander on his knees.

 "Hey," Alexander rasps as he hastily wipes his mouth of spit. “Burr, if you're not going to—”

“Don't presume you tell me what to do, Alexander,” Burr says. “Do you want me to fuck you?” Alexander nods, hasty, suddenly overcome by how badly he wants exactly that. And then Burr is pushing him down, landing on the floor, not even willing to bother with a bed or soft surface. Does he even deserve one? Do _either_ of them deserve one?

Alexander lets Burr divest him of his clothing as he ponders the question, lifting his hips agreeably as his breeches are undone and yanked down over his narrow hips. Burr’s rough, calloused hands dig into his skin as his tongue traces a languid path down Alexander’s torso, and he shivers at the sensation, the cool pricking of air against the trail left there. There are spit-slicked fingers rubbing against his entrance, and it’s not enough but his body is screaming for it, he wants it _now_ , he doesn’t want to wait for the moment to become more intimate or appropriate. He hates himself for wanting this at all, but there’s nothing to be done. His cock is straining upward as Burr reaches his hips, then lays a single kiss on either one before carefully lifting himself upward to a kneeling position, unbuttoning first his jacket and then his shirt.  
  
Alexander can’t stop himself, he can’t shut up. In this moment he’s senseless, and he starts to ramble — not about sex but about power. About the games they play. “Burr, do you realize what you do to me?” he chatters as Burr shrugs off his shirt, revealing a dark, powerful, muscled chest he’s overcome with the desire to bite and suck bruises into. “You realize that this is all a game, right? The next time you see me in Philadelphia you’ll be itching for a fight because I know what you know, that you can’t stay away from me. That I—”  
  
“Hamilton.”  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Leave the matter to hypotheses.”  
  
And then Burr is slowly but surely pressing inside him, and it’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s rough and the drag and burn against him is almost overwhelming. He’s talking again, not even sure of what he’s saying but he can’t shut up as Burr pushes all the way in, his hips finally coming to a stop once he’s fully sheathed inside Alexander. The sensation is intense, it’s overwhelming, and Burr shows no sign or intention of stopping any time soon. He eases back out, and then thrusts into Alexander again, a smidgen harder this time, and—  
  
“ _Fuck,_ ” Alexander groans, pushing his hips up, bracing both palms on the hardwood floor. “Harder, you can go harder, you don’t need to treat me like I’m made of glass, Burr—”  
  
“Don’t tell me how to treat you, Alexander,” Burr says, his brow furrowed in what must be intent focus. “I don’t need instruction in the matter.”  
  
“I need it harder,” he protests as Burr begins a languid rhythm of thrusts, in and out at a pace that quickens almost imperceptibly. “Harder, Burr, fuck me —”  
  
Burr raises both eyebrows, his arms barely trembling as Alexander arches his back, wraps both legs around his waist in an attempt to pull him deeper. “I don’t think I have to remind you that you don’t call the shots.”  
  
“If you can’t fuck me adequately, Bur—”  
  
“Then I’ll have to shut you up again, won’t I?” And then Burr’s reaching for the pile of discarded clothes tossed to the side, and before Alexander’s aware of what’s happening he’s got his own cravat shoved unceremoniously in his mouth. It’s debasing. It’s degrading, it’s humiliating, and he loves it, groans into the fine silk — Parisian silk, something Angelica sent him as a thinking-of-you token from across the pond — and arches his back again as Burr finally, blessedly, speeds up.  
  
Burr takes his time, his brow furrowed in concentration. But he doesn’t touch Alexander, doesn’t make so much as a motion to stroke him off. And when Alexander, finally overcome with the temptation to do so, moves to reach down between them, Burr traps the offending hand against the floor, authoritative. “Ah-ah-ah,” he chides smugly, just barely shaking his head as he keeps up the rhythm of his hips, keeps fucking Alexander at the same steady pace. “Wait, Alexander. Show some patience, for once in your life.”  
  
Alexander whines into his cravat, but Burr does nothing but chuckle, shaking his head a little more blatantly now. “I know, I know, why start now?” he says, and it shocks Alexander how in control he seems, how little heed he seems to pay to the pace at which he’s fucking into him. “You’re a whore, Alexander. Look at you, so eager and shameless underneath me. It’s about time someone taught you how to bide yours.” He smirks as he picks up the pace a little, enough to make Alexander gasp.  
  
Burr’s got both his hands pinned to the floor, tightly enough that he can’t move or struggle otherwise — he tests the strength with which he’s being held down, but in his compromised state can barely move. Which means it’s up to Burr — who’s speeding up more now, fucking him harder and dropping his head to bite and suck on Alexander’s collarbone. They’re both groaning openly now, Alexander into his makeshift gag and Burr outright. And Burr’s grasp tightens on his wrists, so much that Alexander is positive they’ll bruise, that tomorrow he’ll bear the marks of his restraint beneath his shirt cuffs. His cock fucking _aches,_ neglected and bouncing against his taut stomach as Burr fucks him harder.  
  
“Alexander,” Burr mutters into his neck, and then—he’s coming, his thrusts coming rougher and more careless as they slow down. And Alexander _whines_ into his mouthful of silk, the sensation unbearable, Burr’s grip on his wrists searing hot into him — and —  
  
He grits his teeth, willing himself not to let go, only able to imagine Burr’s look of contempt and disgust if he allows himself to come untouched. Alexander clenches his jaw around the gag — it’s undoubtedly soiled, he’ll have to tell Eliza he misplaced it somewhere — and concentrates on restraint, on good behavior, as Burr gingerly pulls out and lifts himself up and off Alexander’s spread-eagle frame.  
  
He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he could remove the gag, lift his hands, even stroke himself off now, but instead he simply stays, awaiting Burr’s next request or command. But Burr says nothing, just takes the moment to catch his breath before staggering to his feet and reaching for his clothes.  
  
“Good,” Burr says after a long pause, and Alexander feels the word, the faintest hint of praise, flush through his body, making his skin turn the tiniest bit redder. “For the first time, you listened. You can come for me, if you can do it — without my assistance.”  
  
And — he _can’t._ That’s the issue, the moment is past, he could have done it mere seconds ago, but without a hand, a mouth, the slightest motion to help, he’s hopeless. Alexander lifts his right hand from the floor, makes a motion to reach downward — Burr said nothing of his own hands — but then it’s pinned to the floor again, and Burr is sneering, yet again only inches from his face.  
  
“Alexander, why so hesitant?” Burr mutters, his breath hot against his face as his eyes flick up to meet Alexander’s. “Here I am, feeling so benevolent, but you’re giving me nothing—”  
  
Alexander whines again, wordless, his last given power stripped from him with the weight of the gag. And Burr grins, the smile spreading slowly across his face as he lifts a hand and makes searing eye contact as he slowly, wordlessly, licks his palm. And then he reaches down, slowly, down to where Alexander’s hips thrust hopelessly against the air.  
  
He’s coming almost as soon as he’s touched, an incoherent string of curses and prayers and things in between, and he could swear that Burr is laughing as he strokes him through it. It’s almost unbearable, the way the white-hot pressure shoots through him, and then it’s —  
  
“Good,” Burr says after a moment, the same strange half-smile flitting across his face as he returns to his usual serious demeanor. “Good.”  
  
And then he’s pulling on his clothes again, buttoning his shirt crooked and lacing up his breeches as Alexander watches, boneless, fucked-out and lazy from his place on the floor. Burr furrows his brow, then bends down and pulls the scrap of silk from between Alexander’s lips. The roof of his mouth is bone-dry and parched, and he licks his lips tentatively as Burr hoists himself back up to his standing position, shaking his head.  
  
“Until we meet again,” Burr says after a pause, and turns away.  
  
Alexander doesn’t lift his head to watch him leave.

**Author's Note:**

> ........yes there are some minor rhyming bits in here that don't really make sense with any existing rhyme scheme but whatever look I do what I want in my erotic Alexander Hamilton/Aaron Burr fanfiction


End file.
